Secrets
by WeareShadowhunters
Summary: Clary Fray definitely had an abnormal childhood- even by Shadowhunter standards. All she wants now is to live a normal, mundane life with her mother. All she wants is to forget. But when a ghost from her past returns, forgetting will be the last thing Clary can do. AU, OOC. Alternates between the past and present.
1. In the Dark

**Hey guys! So, in case you didn't know (most of you probably won't) I wrote a fanfiction titled Destroyed during the end of August. After chapter 6, I promised 3 updates by the end of the week. It is now the end of December. Oops.**

**I decided to continue with Destroyed a little while ago, but when I looked back on previous chapters, a ton of things irked me to no end. Finally, I decided to just rewrite the parts I didn't like, correct errors, and change a few things in general under a new story. Most is the same, but if you read it before and got very excited by my return- which I doubt anyone will, since it's been so long- I would suggest rereading so you can catch up and enjoy the story more in general. If you're new- welcome and enjoy! So, without further ado... Chapter 1!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments. I wish I did, but I don't. So leave me to my tears.**

* * *

**Past**

The door to the weapons room creaked open, and Clary threw her knife with a flick of her wrist. It sunk into the white plaster of the wall, missing Jonathan's head so narrowly that the speed of the blade rustled his white-blond hair. He didn't even flinch before he shot a glare at his younger sister, his black eyes questioning and unforgiving.

"Nice of you to join me," She said in a deadpan, fighting down the sneer she desired to inflict her words with. Clary could fight well, very well for a nine-year-old, in fact, but Jonathan had her beat. She didn't want to send him too far over the edge. "You said you'd train with me at two 'o'clock. It's sunset."

Something flashed across her brother's face, just for a moment, before it faded. Something angry, something hostile, something evil. It had manipulated his features for such a small fraction of a second that Clary was sure she had just imagined it. "I'm sorry, Clary, but Father wanted me for private lessons again."

Against her will, jealousy curdled in Clary's stomach. She knew that she shouldn't be jealous of Jonathan's frequent private lessons anymore, not after the discussion she'd had with her father, but it was still there, hot as a poker in her chest. She pushed it down, going back to her father's words.

"Why do you have private lessons with him and not me, Father?" Clary had demanded the week before, feeling neglected and unloved and unfairly treated. Was it because she was a girl? Because she couldn't fight as well as her brother? Jonathan had received private lessons from their father- ones she was not allowed to attend for years now. Clary had never gotten any knowledge from Valentine that her brother didn't learn as well, and she was getting tired of it.

Valentine had kneeled down next to her and stroked her hair, a sign of affection that he rarely showed her. After all, as he'd taught her, to love is to destroy. "Clarissa, Jonathan is special. He is different from other Nephilim. These are lessons for only him."

"So, you're saying he is a better fighter than me." Of course, Clary had already known that to be true. Jonathan was faster than her, stronger than her, more agile than her. She'd never seen anyone fight as well as him, not even their father. She braced herself for those words.

Surprisingly, Valentine had chuckled. "No, Clarissa, of course not. There are just some… abilities your brother does not possess that you already do."

Clary had raised her eyebrows at this. "Really?" She'd breathed, impressed. There was almost nothing she could do that Jonathan couldn't. "What are they?"

Valentine smiled at her, an empty grin that didn't reach his eyes, and Clary's heart sank, the hope and curiosity wafting out of her like a deflated balloon. She knew what that smile meant- I cannot tell you, Clarissa. As always, it was for only him and Jonathan to know.

Clary frowned at the memory. It hadn't helped her at all- it had done quite the opposite. Her father was probably lying about Jonathan needing assistance with something she could already do. If he was teaching him that, then why were these lessons so frequent? Why didn't they ever stop? Wouldn't he have learned it by now? It would've had to be something significant that needed a lot of work, but if it was, wouldn't Clary have noticed his inability by now? Maybe not, she thought. I am hardly alone with him. He's always with Father, whether I'm there or not, and when Father is away, he ignores me.

She was drawn from her thoughts by her brother's annoyed voice. "Clarissa Morgenstern, I've said 'Father wants us for supper' at least five times now. Are you going to respond, or continue to stand there like a dimwit?"

Clary bared her teeth behind a closed mouth. "Yes, Jonathan, I am coming. Tell Father that I'm changing out of my gear."

"Alright, then," He said. "And do hurry, Father said he has news."

* * *

After Clary showered and changed from her sticky gear to evening dress, she walked slowly down the steps toward the dining room. She watched her feet as she went, contemplating the style she should use for the landscape she intended to paint before bed, when she heard hushed voices escape from the ajar doors down the hall.

"Where will he go?"

"I'm assuming the New York Institute- the Lightwoods were Jonathan Wayland's godparents, after all."

Clary's head spun with curiosity as she walked into the dining room. "Who are you talking about?" She asked, eagerness dripping from her words.

Valentine gave her a look, and Clary cowered into her chair. The look spoke for him: Clarissa, you're being rude.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said.

He softened a bit. "It's alright, Clarissa. Jonathan and I were simply discussing the fate of Michael Wayland's young son. His mother died years back, and Michael is fatally ill, expected to die soon."

"Oh," Clary breathed. "The poor boy, to be orphaned so young!"

Valentine frowned, sympathy shining from his features. "Yes, it is tragic. You are fortunate to have lost only your mother."

Clary frowned now, the mention of Jocelyn sparking something in her brain. Her father had told her that her mother had died giving birth to her, but Clary didn't believe that story. She had the smallest flashes of memory of a woman with dark red hair and thoughtful green eyes, singing her lullabies and kissing her banged elbows, thrashing on the floor, cursing and screaming, "Clary! Clary! Clarissa!"

She'd put it off as dreams, dreams and nightmares. Still, the first time she had recalled the last flash of her mother- or whoever the woman was- she had requested her father and brother call her Clary. Valentine had hastily refused.

Valentine cleared his throat, and Clary's head snapped up to his face, away from her meal. "In other news," He started, "I will be leaving late tonight for Clave business. I will return in two days."

Clary perked up at his announcement. Her father usually went on Clave business every other week, and was gone six, seven, or sometimes even eight days. Valentine stood. "I must go prepare. Finish your supper, children, and then please clean the dishes and put yourselves to bed. I will be gone when you wake up."

With that, he left. Clary pressed her lips together in a thin, painful line. "Well, that was abrupt," She muttered to herself.

"You know Father," Jonathan responded, hearing her even though she hadn't intended him to. "He is a rather abrupt person."

"Do you ever wonder where he really goes?"

Jonathan choked on his water. "What?"

Clary sighed. "Jonathan, he's gone every other week, for a week. I can't imagine Clave business is that often, or that long."

"What faith you have in your own flesh and blood."

"It's not that I don't trust Father- of course I do, he raised the both of us without any help and never once complained about it. It's just that I can't make sense of it. He leaves us so often. He's off on Clave business half as much as he's here."

Her brother studied her for a moment, making Clary bite her lip. Something in his gaze made her strangely self-conscious, and she gathered her long red curls at the nape of her neck. Finally, he spoke. "You're much cleverer than Father and I thought, Clary. Unfortunately, I can't tell you where he goes. It is up to Father to tell you."

Now it was Clary's turn to choke. A piece of meat caught in her throat, and it took a minute to pass. "You know?" She sputtered.

"Of course I know," He said as if it were obvious. "Father confides in me."

Jealousy returned to Clary, stomping on her chest like an angry demon. She felt pressure against her eyelids, but there wasn't a lump in her throat, just a thickness that made her food harder to swallow. She didn't have to cry, and she silently thanked the Angel for that. She would not cry in front of Jonathan. He probably thought she was pathetic enough already, with their father not trusting her, not thinking she was smart or clever or a superior fighter.

How could he do this? Her own father favored his son over his daughter, made it blatantly obvious, and denied it when she confronted him about it! She was furious, so mad she could spit. And yet, she was distressed at the same time. Her brother was rude to her, empty and relentless and cold. Her father put her second, after his precious son. Her mother had died before she had a chance to look at her, so how could she have ever cared about her? And even if her mother hadn't died when her father said so, she was still dead. The dead couldn't love- the dead couldn't do anything in their state. No one in the world loved her more first, more than anyone and anything else, and no one probably ever had.

It was then that Clary made the decision. Sure, her father would be angry with her when- if- he found out, but she didn't care. She deserved to know something for once, not be kept in the dark, or lied to, and maybe, just maybe, it would gain her some respect from Valentine. Maybe he'd see the warrior inside of her, burning as bright as his, or Jonathan's, or any other Shadowhunter. She wasn't going to sleep that night. No, instead, she was going to follow her father.

**Chapter 2 will come soon, considering it's already written. Within the next hour, definitely.**


	2. Pandemonium

**And here it is! Enjoy!**

**The chapters in the present take place a little less than seven years after the past chapters. So the past chapters are when Clary is 9 years old, and the present chapters start about a week before she turns 16, just like in City of Bones. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments. Obviously. Otherwise, it wouldn't be called fanfiction.**

* * *

**Present**

Clary snaked out of her bedroom, her high heels clacking against the tile as she quickly walked toward the front door of the apartment. "Bye, Mom, I'm going to Simon's!" She called out when she opened the front door.

"Hold it!" Jocelyn demanded, grabbing her daughter's shoulder and spinning her around. Clary cringed, cursing inside of her head. "You're going to Simon's dressed like that?"

"Yes, I am," Clary said, laying out the excuse she had penned while putting on her black dress. It reminded her so much of gear. "Simon likes it when I wear this dress. He says it makes me look like a female Darth Vader during fashion week."

"You're going to that Pandemonium club again, aren't you?" Clary looked down in defeat. "You know I don't like you going there. Someone can find out what you really are!"

"I know," She sighed. "But it's just so tempting, being in Downworld. It brings back that feeling of being a warrior. I miss it."

Jocelyn gave her a sympathetic smile, coaxing Clary away from the door, which she was still clutching like a lifeline. Shutting it quietly, she sat next to Clary on the couch. "I know you do, baby. But you can't go back to that life. Not unless you want him to find you again. I couldn't handle it if he did. Once is bad enough, but getting you taken from me twice…" Her eyes glistened with tears.

"I know, Mama," Clary said, putting her head on her mother's shoulder. "But I can't hide forever. I still have the marks, the scars, and the open-eye rune on my hand. Someone will see."

"And I'd like to put it off for as long as possible."

Clary sighed, long and breathy. "If you let me go tonight, I won't ever go again. I promise. I'll only ever go to mundane places. Luke will be the only downworlder I look at."

Jocelyn looked at her wistfully. "You promise?"

"I promise," Clary smiled.

It was a promise she couldn't keep.

* * *

"I'll never understand why you like it here, Clary," Simon called over the roaring music.

Clary grinned to herself. "For reasons you'll never understand, Simon."

Her blood ran hot and thick through her veins. She had seen a demon when they were in line to get into the club, and the desire to slice its head off with a sword and laugh hysterically bubbled inside her, never leaving. She was conscious of Simon next to her, mumbling something about cross-dressing, but she wasn't paying attention. What if the demon sensed what she was? What if it came over and attacked them? What would she tell Simon?

She pushed the questions down. She knew it wasn't possible for a demon to know what she was, only for her to know what it was. Still, she was frightened. If, for some reason, the demon did attack, what would the mundanes see? What would they do if she yanked the seraph blade from her glamoured sheath and stabbed it? She shook her head. Her mother was right; it wasn't good for her to be here. She was about to turn to Simon and suggest that they leave, when she saw something that made her freeze in her tracks. Her bones turned to mush, and she fought the strong urge to collapse to the ground. The demon was talking to a girl. And they were going to the back of the club, somewhere private. Somewhere where he could murder her and have her screams drowned out by the excessively loud music.

The girl was going to die if she didn't defy her mother's wishes and slay the demon. Her mother would be mad, but she didn't have to find out. Demon ichor was black, like her dress. Maybe it wouldn't show too obviously, and she could change before Jocelyn got too close. She nodded. Yes, she had to do this. She couldn't let that damn demon take an innocent girl's life.

She started running after them, forgetting about Simon. He yelled after her and she stopped, turning to face him and yell "Bathroom!" before turning to run again.

It wasn't until she was ten feet from the door that she realized she wasn't the only shadowhunter in the club. There were two boys in black gear entering the storage room that the demon and the girl had went into, one with dark hair, and one with a gleam of a golden mop, achingly familiar. She felt her heart sink with a painful clench in her chest. She had been so excited for the heat of battle again, not with just some sweaty kid she knocked down in two seconds during a boxing match, but a real battle with a demon. One she actually had to put effort into to win.

The decision was rash, but so was nearly every decision she had made in her life. She kicked open the door, seraph blade flashing in her hand.

The dark haired boy widened his eyes at her, nearly dropping his own weapon. "Who are you?" He asked, clearly shocked by her appearance. "Why aren't you glamoured?"

She noticed that the dark haired girl had a whip coiled around her fingers, marks escaping from the sleeves of her dress. So the girl hadn't been in danger, after all- just the bait in a clever trap. Clary smirked. "I came here to kill something, not to answer questions." She strode over to the blonde boy who had his seraph blade pressed against the demon's throat, ignoring the strange pressure in her chest at the sight of the back of his head. He had the same golden hair color as her boy, but that did not mean they were one in the same. "If you would let me do the honor," She said, forcing herself not to peek at his face and trying her hardest not to let him get a glimpse of hers. "I haven't had the opportunity to kill one in a while, and I may not get it again for a long time."

She could feel the scowl in his eyes boring into her skull. "Who are you? Are you a shadowhunter?"

"I am. But I'm not," She told him, and knowing she sounded ominous, she shoved him off the demon so she wouldn't have to answer any more questions. He made a sound of utter astonishment as he crashed into the wall. Clearly, short redheads didn't throw him into walls often. She ignored him and moved to decapitate the creature. She brought the seraph blade back and hurtled it toward the demon, when it suddenly burst something out.

"Stop! I can give you information!"

She stopped, the blade kissing its neck. She threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, as if I haven't heard that one before! 'I can give you information'," She mocked, doubling forward with laughter again. The dark haired boy and girl watched her with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. "What you've got to say had better be pretty freaking original, demon, or you'll suffer a slow, painful death."

"I know about Valentine."

Clary's heart nearly stopped beating in her chest, becoming wild and inconsistent for a moment before it righted itself. Her breathing got heavy; her chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself. "What?"

"Girl," The dark haired boy's tone was warning, "they've all been saying that lately. Don't trust him."

And at those words, Clary lost it. She drew all the pain, anger, and frustration into her blade, and it swung, slashed, and stabbed even after the demon had disappeared, slicing through thin air.

"You do know that the demons gone, right?"

She lifted her gaze to the left, and immediately regretted it. There they were. Those golden eyes that had haunted her nightmares for seven years now. The eyes that had brought her delight in her dreams.

Recognition washed over his features as well, and Clary stood, frozen, trying to speak, to move, to do anything. She couldn't. After a moment, he opened his mouth.

"Clary?"

She opened her mouth to confirm that that was indeed her name, but then it snapped shut. She tried to nod, but only succeeded in making her jaw clench. Frustration pumped through her, and just as she was about to attempt to speak again, Simon, of all people, came through the door.

"Clary," He gasped. "I thought I saw you go back here! What are you doing? Why are you holding a knife?" He widened his eyes as he looked down at her, meeting hers after a moment of stunned silence. "Is that blood you're covered in?"

That was the last straw for Clary. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, the world going black.

* * *

**Chapter 3 will appear soon. I hope you enjoyed!**


	3. The Boy in the Manor House

**Disclaimer: I do not own TMI or its characters. I am smart, but I'm not a genius.**

* * *

**Past**

Clary was utterly confused.

She had dressed in gear, armed with swords and knives and whips, her stele in hand. She had drawn various runes up and down her neck and shoulders- silence, glamour, night vision and agility. Valentine had forbidden Clary from putting runes on her own skin, but Clary didn't listen to him. "It is dangerous, Clarissa, you could make a wrong line, use the wrong rune for the wrong situation- no, you will wait until I determine your knowledge is vast enough," he had told her after she'd been first marked, earlier than most shadowhunters, on her eighth birthday.

If only he knew, Clary had thought. Drawing runes was as natural as breathing for Clary, as easy to read as English words, as easy to write as letters. Clary saw hidden messages in runes, things she knew her father and even Jonathan couldn't see. Runes were more than just a source of power to Clary. They were a language.

Valentine had emerged from his bedroom, a small bag in hand. Clary, hiding behind a shelf, furrowed her eyebrows. She had never seen her father leave for one of his trips before, and while he was only leaving for only two days, the bag he had been clutching was certainly not large enough for two days worth of clothing, weapons, and gear. This had sparked a renewed curiosity in her, and any desire to go back and sleep in her bedroom had quickly dissipated.

Clary had fallen into step behind Valentine as soon as he had left his bedroom. It had been difficult to conceal her shadows and footsteps when they were walking to the front door, but once they had slipped into the dark cloak of the night, Clary's silhouette had simply looked like small tree in the distance the few times Valentine had looked back. They had walked for hours, and Clary's feet had begun to ache. She had an immense muscular endurance, but they had been moving for so long it was enough to tire her out. She vaguely wondered why he hadn't just portaled to the Clave meeting, when she remembered that he almost definitely wasn't going on Clave business. The Clave would have sent someone through a portal for him, so he wouldn't have to walk so long, and so far. Where he was going was decidedly portal-less. She had trudged after her father for another half hour, no complaints on her mind.

Now, she was standing on the lawn of a manor house, far larger than the home she lived in, and her father was opening the door with keys. Clary's heart pounded in her chest. Why did her father have keys to this manor? Why had he called coming here Clave business?

To distract herself from the desire to sprint up to her father and demand answers, Clary decided to focus on the nature around her. The sky was a subtle blend of colors- pink and indigo and the slight beginnings of light, sky blue. She saw a sliver of orange sun peeking from the horizon- a sunrise she would have loved to paint under other circumstances.

Once Valentine had opened the door, Clary went to the bottom of the steps, slipping in the door after him. When she entered, the first thing she saw was a young boy, obviously trying to keep the excitement off his face, sitting at a grand piano. Clary pushed down her anger at the memory of when Valentine had attempted to teach Jonathan and her piano. About halfway through the hour lesson, when Clary was just getting used to the feel of the keys beneath her fingers, Jonathan had snapped, saying the piano was useless to warriors, that playing Bach would not slay a demon, and he refused to learn any longer. Of course, Valentine had agreed with him, saying he was right, but Clary knew that Jonathan had only said that to their father because Clary was becoming better at playing piano then him.

Clary watched the boy in downright fascination, hiding behind a sofa. He was beautiful, with blonde hair and eyes to match, pools of liquid gold. She felt her heart contract, and then lurch again for a completely different reason.

The boy smiled and called Valentine Father.

* * *

Clary couldn't remember the last time she'd been actually shocked. She'd been surprised a number of times by Jonathan before, sneaked up on or scared, but she was rarely shocked, had never experienced something so unexpected. But Clary was shocked now, and she didn't like it. She felt like her stomach was plummeting to her feet, and she thanked the Angel that she had become immobile, because if she hadn't, she was sure she would've already hauled herself to the piano and threw a tantrum right there on the floor, kicking and screaming that Valentine was her father, not this strange, beautiful boy's. Of all the theories that had run through Clary's mind on the journey, the fact that he had been keeping a boy in a manor hours away and lying to him about his parentage would've never been one, not in a million years.

The world went quiet, and Clary had the desire to puke down the front of her gear. She didn't, though. She kept quiet, watching her father walk up the long, spiral staircase, telling the boy that he needed to sleep after his late journey.

The golden boy stayed at the piano, his fingers dancing on the keys. Smooth, mellifluous, notes flew from the instrument until they were just a blissful muddle, and Clary felt something pleasant prick in the center of her stomach, spreading to her limbs and head and chest. She smiled as she fell asleep, forgetting the troubles of the day, if just for a moment.

* * *

Clary woke to someone poking her shoulder. She groaned into the pillow. She didn't want to wake up, she wanted to stay in her dream. She was with the red-haired woman she suspected was her mother, and she was braiding her hair with daisies.

Then the previous morning came back to her, and she snapped up, realization settling her bones. Her stomach dropped when her eyes met a pair of golden ones, bright and shining like midday sun.

"If you're wondering how I found you hiding, you snore. It wasn't hard to hear you behind my sofa."

Clary took a deep breath, trying to clear her head, to force words out of her mouth, but she couldn't. For the second time that day, she was shell-shocked. Why wasn't he demanding to know who she was, why she was in his home (or what she assumed was his home), why had she fallen asleep behind his couch?

"Have my godly looks stunned you to silence? I'm assuming that's what it is, though I'm not sure. I've never met a girl my age before, so the cook, Magda, and I may be the only ones to think that I'm attractive. Of course, I have seen the butler staring from time to time—"

"What in the Angel's name are you talking about?" Clary suddenly interrupted, her voice found.

"Myself, dear girl. I guess you aren't as intelligent as you look."

Clary gave an exasperated sigh. "I know, you idiot. I meant… Why aren't you questioning me? You aren't interested in the slightest about who I am, or why I was sleeping behind your sofa?"

"Well, of course I am, but I figured I give you some time to clear your head a little. You look groggy, and slightly green."

Clary instinctively brought a hand to her cheek. "I'm green for a good reason. I was up all night walking- during which I fell in a rabbit hole and had to sprint a distance to catch up, I might add-, discovered my father might be a lying, backstabbing cretin, and woke up in a strange room next to some arrogant boy, all before Tuesday!"

"A lying, backstabbing cretin you say?" The boy leaned forward, putting his elbows in his lap. "Do tell."

"We don't even know each other's names. Why would I tell you something that personal?" Clary was lying, of course. She knew she probably should tell the boy the ideas brewing in her head, but she didn't want to. There was something about him, something strangely and delicately innocent, like a thin shield of glass that she didn't want to shatter.

And she knew that if she was even half right, it would be enough to send their worlds clattering down with a loud bang.

"Well, then, tell me your name," The boy said.

She gave a weak smile. "Clary."

"Pretty name," he grinned. "Like clary sage?"

"No," She shook her head. "Short for Clarissa."

He nodded, and looked up a bit, as if he were considering her words. Finally, he spoke. "My name is Jonathan. Jonathan Christopher Wayland."

He stuck his hand out, clearly expecting her to shake it. Instead, she muffled a scream with her fist.

* * *

**So here it is! I wrote the majority of this back in August before I saw the movie, so when I was rereading it I found the piano thing very ironic, especially because the composer I chose was Bach- the very same one Clary and Jace were talking about and that they had a portrait of in the Institute. I hated that in the movie- I found it very ridiculous. God, I hope the writers of that movie discover this fanfiction...**


	4. Ichor Stained

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI or its characters. All rights to Cassandra Clare. Who is not me. Unfortunately.**

* * *

**Present **

Clary woke in her bed, her mother hovering over her with a concerned look on her face, Simon lingering in the doorway, biting his lip. She felt a blush climb to her cheeks. She had passed out. She had actually passed out from exertion, or shock, or…

"How long was I out?" She asked Simon, and his eyes widened. She guessed he hadn't seen her awaken.

"About a half hour. I brought you home, your mom patched you up, and you were in your bed for like ten seconds before you woke up."

"You have a really long cut on your shoulder. I bandaged it. I'm guessing you passed out from blood loss. It's all over your dress." Clary knew that the gash on her shoulder had little to do with her stained dress, or her fainting episode. Jocelyn knew it as well, so Clary concluded that it was just a weak attempt to trick Simon. "Simon's told me his side of the story. Now I would like to hear yours." She turned to Clary's best friend. "Thank you for bringing Clary home, Simon, but can you let us talk in private, please?"

"No, Simon, you don't have to go," She turned to her mother. "There isn't anything you can say that Simon can't hear."

Jocelyn turned around slowly, looking Simon- who appeared extremely uncomfortable- for a moment, before she twisted back to Clary.

"Yes," she said, after an agonizing minute of silence. "There is."

* * *

"I knew I shouldn't have let you go there! I knew it! You could have killed yourself! Lucky Simon was there, or you'd be dead!"

"Mom—" Clary tried to interject, but her mother continued to ramble on, oblivious.

"Why, in the name of the Angel, did you think that it would be a good idea to go after a demon?"

"Mom—"

"It's been years, you're under-trained! And don't say that you've been boxing, or that you have naturally excellent abilities, because I already know those things, and they don't matter! You haven't used a seraph blade in years, and—"

"MOM!" Clary yelled, no longer able to contain herself. "You said you wanted to hear my side of the story, so listen to it! Simon is a mundane, he's misinformed, he didn't give you any details! Just, please listen."

Jocelyn sighed, plopping herself down on Clary's bed. "All right. I'm sorry. Explain everything."

She recounted the entire experience, leaving out the part that the blonde boy was the Shadowhunter Clary had told her about years ago. She felt that he was something she should keep to herself. When she finished, Jocelyn's face was stony. Then she sighed and fluffed Clary's pillow.

"I need to talk to Luke. You should get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Clary nodded, her head throbbing with exhaustion. Her mother left the room, shutting the light off behind her, and Clary fell asleep in just a few minutes, a vision of golden eyes bringing her the same delightful feeling his music had years ago.

* * *

"So, are you grounded?" Simon asked over the phone the next evening. Clary could hear the soft buzzing of voices in the background.

"Hello to you too, Simon," She said, rolling her eyes even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Simon groaned. "Hello, Clarissa. Now are you?"

"I don't think so. I was scolded, I explained that I found a knife on the floor while looking for the bathroom and fell on it, and then she put me to bed. She said we'd talk about it tomorrow, but it's tomorrow, and she still hasn't come back from wherever she went with Luke." Clary sighed, and then winced as a cymbal loudly clanged behind Simon. "Where are you anyway? Eric's?"

"Yeah, we just finished practice. Eric's doing a poetry reading at Java Jones tonight, the whole band is showing up for support. Want to come?"

"Sure, why not, if I can."

"Good, I don't want to sit there all night listening to Eric's poetry with Matt and Kirk as company." Clary heard a chorus of "Hey!" in the background and snickered.

"But I'm not sure. I mean, my mom was really pissed at me. Like, super pissed. I don't want to make her angrier by asking to go somewhere else."

"Fine, then. I'll just show up at your house and request that you come. You act like you've never heard my offer before, and then she'll let you go, melted by my charms."

Clary burst out laughing. "What… charms?" She sputtered out between giggles.

"Very funny, Fray. But, seriously, Clary, she'll let you go if I show up. Your mom loves me."

"Sign of her questionable taste, if you ask me."

"Nobody did," said Simon, and then he hung up.

Clary sat back with a sigh. She knew there was next to no chance that her mother would let her go out with Simon. She knew she wasn't pleased that she had went and killed a demon when there were already Shadowhunters there to do so, and she probably would be under lock and key, under constant observation, starting the second her mother arrived home. But that rush of adrenaline, the looks of admiration from the black-haired Shadowhunters, seeing her golden boy's face again… it had all been worth it.

Clary's head jerked to the side as the sound of a key twisting in the lock taunted her ears, and a smile lit up her face as Luke walked in, carrying several flattened boxes.

"Hey Luke," She said, watching him separate the cardboard. "Where's Mom?"

"Parking the truck," he replied, and, seeming satisfied with his work, plopped down on the couch next to her.

"Did she tell you?" She asked. "About last night?"

Luke pressed his lips together. "Yep," He answered simply.

"And what is your opinion on the situation?"

"She said she'd prefer it if I waited until she got inside to discuss it."

Clary nodded, releasing a theatrical sigh. "What're the boxes for?"

Luke stiffened. "Oh, your mother wanted to pack up some things. You know, extra stuff lying around the house. You know she never throws anything out."

He stood, walking over to the hearth and digging around in the tool chest beside it.

"Luke?" Clary said. He gave a short 'mm', acknowledging that he'd heard her. "What would you do… what would do if you knew something no one else knew?"

Luke turned to her, an orange plastic tape gun in hand. "What do you mean? Like, I'm the only witness to a crime?"

Clary nodded. "Yeah. Like that, but say… Say you know that if the truth got out, it wouldn't help catch the criminal at all, just hurt someone innocent. What would be the right thing to do?"

"Clary," Luke started, giving her a sideways, sympathetic look. "I—"

Jocelyn chose that precise moment to walk in the door. She handed Luke a chain of clinking car keys. "Thanks for bringing boxes up," She said to him. Luke didn't say anything: he just stared forward at the wall, an unreadable expression on his face.

Clary narrowed her eyes. "Mom, what're the boxes really for?"

Jocelyn looked to Clary, her lips grinding together. She sat next to Clary on the couch, her eyes nervous. "We're leaving the city."

Clary's eyes widened. "No! We can't, Mom, we made a life here, we risked so much, tried so hard—"

"Relax, Clary," She said, putting a hand on top of her daughter's head. "It's not permanent. Just for the rest of summer. We're going to the farmhouse."

Clary's jaw tightened. "Is this about last night?"

"You shouldn't have done what you did last night. You know better than anyone."

"But how does that warrant leaving for the rest of the summer? I had plans with Simon, I'm taking those art classes that I paid for, I've got boxing—"

"Simon will understand. There's only two more boxing matches left, I can pay you back for the classes." Jocelyn sighed and looked Clary in the eyes, tucking one of her daughter's curls behind her ear. "You said you saw Shadowhunters at Pandemonium, and they saw you. You killed that demon and disappeared. They're going to wonder who you are, and the Conclave is going to wonder even more once they tell them about you."

The golden boy flashed across Clary's mind- his tawny eyes, the crinkles by his eyes as he smiled, his breathy laugh, his outstretched hand as he said his name. Jonathan Christopher Wayland.

"They won't tell," She said, a sad smile crossing her face for a moment before she forced the corners of her mouth down. Her mother must have seen, but she didn't say anything. "I'm sure they won't tell."

Jocelyn looked at Clary thoughtfully. "How do you know that?"

"I-I…"

Simon swung the door open, and Clary thanked the Angel aloud, earning her a glare from her mother that most definitely meant either Don't talk about the Angel in front of a mundane, or simply shut up.

Clary smiled sheepishly and jumped to her feet. "Let's go, Simon," She said, forcefully grabbing his forearm and dragging him toward the door.

"Jesus, women, don't rip my arm off," Simon complained. Clary rolled her eyes.

"Clary," Jocelyn called out. "Don't you think we should talk about this?"

Clary pretended to consider it for a moment. "Later, Mom. Just… there's something I have to do. Please let me do this."

"This?" Her mother's face contorted into confusion, and then faded to shock. "Clary- you can't! You can't do that!"

Clary looked at Simon, who she still had in a vise-like grip. He looked utterly confused. She was tired of this. She was tired of the lies. She looked to her mother. "Yes," She said. "I have to. I can."

* * *

**Done! Yay! I hope you enjoyed. Reviews appreciated. Jace is coming soon. Little Jace and modern day Jace.**


	5. The Second Jonathan

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI or its characters.**

* * *

**Past  
**

Clary's stomach felt heavy, and all she wanted to do was put her head on the spongy area rug- so soft she had earlier mistaken for a pillow- beneath her and scream.

This boy had called her father Father, and now he was telling her that he had the same first and middle name as her brother. Was this some kind of sick joke? Had her father discovered her plans of following him and set up this elaborate ruse to teach her a lesson?

Suddenly, Clary remembered the conversation her father and brother had had the previous day.

"Where will he go?"

"I'm assuming the New York Institute- the Lightwoods were Jonathan Wayland's godparents, after all."

Michael Wayland's son was named Jonathan. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this was all just a misunderstanding on her part- a string of misconstrued coincidences. Maybe Michael Wayland was her father's friend, and Valentine was visiting him on his deathbed. Maybe that was why their sons had the same name. Maybe Jonathan Wayland had just been telling Valentine something about his father, and Clary just hadn't heard the rest of his words, making it sound like he was calling him Father. Clary nodded. That made perfect sense.

A voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Clary! What's the matter?"

"I… um…" Her body began to shake, an occurrence saved for when she was frightened, which was rarely. She was curious, of course, but she didn't know what the price of that curiosity would be. She couldn't just start asking questions. What if he confirmed that she had previously been right? He would want to know why, and she'd be forced to tell him the truth. She couldn't lie to him about something of that extent, and then what would happen? Would she crush the boy? Make him hate her? She didn't know why, considering she had just met him by breaking and entering his home, but she didn't want either of those to happen. She decided to play it safe.

"I... was just remembering that I broke into your house. And I should probably go. Wouldn't want too much trouble with the Clave. She moved to stand up. Jonathan grabbed her wrist.

"No, Clary, stay here," He said. She gave him a questioning look. "Please?"

Clary grinned. She quickly forced it down. She sat next to him in the narrow space, her back against the wall. His legs brushed hers, and she put her head in her lap until her blush faded.

"Why?" She asked, finally, after a minute of silence.

"I want you to answer my question."

"Oh," She said simply. She wasn't sure what she'd wanted him to say, but this answer disappointed her, for whatever reason. "Ask away, then."

"Why are you here?"

Lies bounced in her head, none of them believable. She sighed, making her look like she was hesitating to tell him something tragic. She latched onto that. "My mother died giving birth to me. My father- he's been taking care of me since then. But sometimes he would leave me home to go to Clave meetings. One day, he didn't come home from one. I've been looking for him. I follow people home from Clave meetings to look for him. He's been gone for so long, though. I'm starting to suspect that he's either dead, or he abandoned me. I wouldn't put that above him."

Jonathan gave her a sympathetic look, and Clary flinched. "What?" He said.

"I hate pity, and I hate sympathy. Don't look at me like that." This was a half-truth. She was actually glad that he'd looked at her like that- it proved he had believed her lie- but it multiplied her guilt. She wished she'd thought of a lie that wasn't so despicable to pretend, but it was too late to turn back now, unless she wanted to tell him the truth, which she wasn't going to do until she was positive her theories were wrong. At least this fabrication was somewhat true- her mother was dead, and her father did leave her home for Clave meetings often. If they were Clave meetings at all...

"So you followed my father?" Jonathan interrupted her train of thought. His father. Clary took a deep breath. That didn't mean anything. Maybe there was a Clave meeting in Alicante her father missed, and Michael Wayland had been well enough to attend.

Don't expect the worst, she told herself. "Yes. I did."

He nodded. "Well, you can stay here for a while. I can hide you in a guest bedroom, and bring you food and water twice a day. I'll make sure to lock the door when you sleep so no one comes in."

Clary raised her eyebrows, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. He was so kind. "I-I couldn't."

"Please, Clary? I know we just met, in a rather unexpected way, too, but for some reason, I want you to be safe. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew you were out there suffering… I want to help you. Maybe if I tell my father about you, he'll send you to my godparents. They run the New York Institute. Father says they're nice people; maybe they'll take you in."

"That's awfully kind of you, but I'm okay as I am. Really."

"Well, if you don't find a home, you won't be able to train. You won't be able to kill demons, or find a parabatai, be a Shadowhunter. You want to be one, don't you?"

"Of course I do," She responded before she could think. "It's what I was born for."

Jonathan grinned. "Then stay here for a few days. Think about going to an Institute."

Clary put her head in her hands. She had to leave before her father: he would definitely be suspicious if she arrived in the door after him, wearing dirty, sweat-stained gear. But, she realized with a lurch in her stomach, she didn't know how to get home. It had been dark when she had followed Valentine to the manor, and as much as she wanted to run home and demand her brother tell her about the Wayland boy, she would get terribly lost. She released a heavy sigh.

"All right," She sighed. "Just for a few days."

* * *

**And, I'm done. Sorry it's so short. Chapter 6 will be up by tomorrow!**


	6. Through the Shining Glass

**Yay chapter 6. Sadly, this means you guys will have to wait about a few days between chapters now, because I have no more prewritten. Sorry :(**

**Chapter 7 will most likely be up by Saturday. If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them in the reviews. I have a bit of writer's block for the beginning of the chapter, so even if I don't find a place for your suggestion in the next chapter, it would definitely help to get my creative juices flowing.**

****Update- I just went back and added Past and Present before each chapter. A reviewer suggested this, and I decided it would clear up a lot of prior confusion. This tag will be included before each chapter now. I'm working on the next chapter right now, and I'm pretty sure I'll finish by this weekend. I'll try to work out an updating schedule around my school work, but for now just look out for new chapters during the weekends. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI or its characters. Meh.**

* * *

**Present**

"So… you gonna explain yet?" They were half way through their meal, and Clary still hadn't said one word.

"I guess," She murmured. She was nervous. He was going to flip out, Clary was sure of it. They'd been friends for six years, and, as far as he knew, there were no secrets between them. "I'm going to tell you the truth about what happened at Pandemonium."

Simon made a face. "So you didn't really go into a storage room while looking for the bathroom and fall on a knife? You don't say?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "Okay, it was a little farfetched, but—"

"A little?"

"Shut up," said Clary halfheartedly. "No interruptions, this is the most important thing I'll ever tell you."

Raising an eyebrow, Simon tossed the last bit of his veggie burrito in his mouth, and they stood to leave.

Clary sighed, not sure where to begin. She stared down at the sidewalk below them, nearly colliding with a stroller. She knit her eyebrows together when she saw a little girl holding a pixie in her arms, but then she shrugged it off. It wasn't her place to worry about what Downworlders did in their spare time.

"I'm waiting, Clarissa," Simon said, and Clary resisted the urge to sock him in the jaw.

Clary looked around at the people surrounding her, and- not for the first time- began to regret saying anything about revealing a truth earlier. There were too many people, too many chances to be heard. They rounded the corner, and Clary breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the coffee shop at the end of the sidewalk.

"I'm honestly not sure how to start," she told Simon. "It's kind of... weird."

Simon raised his eyebrows at her. "Clary, you told me about the time you accepted a dare to lick your cat."

Clary gave a short chuckle at the memory. Simon had been telling her all the eccentric stories of his childhood a few years ago, and since the majority of abnormalities of her early years were nothing she could recount to Simon, she'd had to make most of them up. Wanting to tell at least one partially true story, she'd told Simon of the time she'd been dared to lick the family cat- leaving out, of course, that it was her brother that dared her to lick Fluffy Midnight McDagger- a name acquired from her and Jonathan's conflicting ideas for names.

"This is… extreme personal information," Clary elaborated.

"Extreme? Clary, you're the least extreme person I know."

"I box extremely, and I beat you up extremely in the sixth grade," she said, mock-offense lacing her words.

"I meant mentally. Occurrence-wise. No extreme events happen to either of us."

Clary grinned at the complete irony of his statement. Before they met, Clary's life had been the definition of extreme. Even at Shadowhunter standards.

They arrived outside of Java Jones, and Clary pulled Simon into a booth, suddenly anxious to admit everything.

"Clarissa Fray!" Simon objected. "I am not a rag doll; you can't constantly drag me by the arm like that unless you want to rip it off!"

"Sorry," Clary apologized without emotion. "I really just need to get this off my chest."

Simon raised his eyebrows. "This must be a big thing."

Clary let out a breath that was part sigh, part chuckle. "Big is one way to describe it." She felt a wave of nausea go over her at the idea of speaking. She was telling Simon. She was telling Simon. She was really telling him. She took a deep breath…

And all the words she had been planning on saying tumbled from her brain like a gymnast falling off her beam. Her eyes widened as she stared forward at the window, and it was all she could do not to curl up in the fetal position and have a panic attack on the table.

_No_, she thought. _No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!_

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. She laced her fingers together in her lap, squeezing her palms together and taking heavy, shaking breaths.

"Clary?" Simon sounded hesitant. "Are you—"

She didn't let him finish. "I'll be right back," She managed to say, pushing herself up from her seat with the table edge. She ran for the door.

* * *

He was slouched against the alley wall, as if he had expected her to run after him. Clary let out a breath, resisting the urge to sprint up to him, wrap her arms around his neck, and sob. She took a slow step toward him.

"Jonathan," she said, surprised at how level her voice was. "What are you doing here? How'd you find me?"

"I still go by Jace, actually." Was all he said.

She studied him, as she hadn't been able to in those few seconds at Pandemonium. The years had made his features more defined, sculpted his muscles, made his limbs longer. He was more attractive now, that wasn't anything to be debated. "Suits you well now," She mumbled. He smirked, and she felt her face go pink.

"I'm here," he started after a moment of awkward silence, "because of the… incident… at Pandemonium last night."

Clary winced. "You didn't go to the Clave, did you?"

He actually looked astonished. "Of course not. If I had, they would've sent someone much older to search for you. It's stayed private between me, the Lightwood siblings- the other two who were with me last night- and our tutor, Hodge."

Clary nodded. "Good. I'd be dead if the Clave found out that—" She trailed off, realizing what she had been about to say.

"Well, then it looks you may suffer a ghastly fate, my dear friend."

Clary widened her eyes. "You- you mean... you wouldn't…"

Jace gave her a sad smile. "_I_ wouldn't tell the Clave anything, if it were up to me. But it's not. When you come back to the Institute, Hodge will decide what needs to be done."

"You're _making_ me come back to the_ Institute_ with you?"

"I was _hoping_ it would be willingly, but if it comes to that…"

"I can't believe you're kidnapping me!"

"I'm not kidnapping you. Think of it as… involuntary transportation."

Before she could retort, Clary's phone rang for the third time that evening. She heaved a sigh. Now was really not the time to deal with her mother, but it had to be done. It would give her a good excuse to get away from Jace_._

She half-turned away from Jace and lifted the phone to her ear. "Mom?"

"Clary, thank the Angel!" Clary felt a sharp pain in her stomach at her mother's panicked tone. "Clary, listen to me."

"Mom, it's fine. I'm fine. I didn't tell Simon anything. I'm on my way home—"

"No!" Jocelyn's voice was cold and insistent. "No, Clary. Don't come home, you can't come home!"

"What? Why?"

"Clary- he- he found us."

Clary felt her stomach drop to her feet. "No!" Her cry was strangled, angry, and helpless. "No, Mom, I have to come home, I have to help you!"

"Clary, you won't help me by putting yourself in danger, risking him getting you too! Stay away from the apartment, go to Luke, go to Luke, and tell him he found me! He'll know what to do. Don't come back!"

There were noises in the background, banging and screaming and gurgling that sent Clary's heart into a frenzy. "Mom!"

"I love you."

The line went dead.

* * *

Clary ran. She ran faster than she had ever run before, even that fateful day when she escaped. The thought of her mother, mangled and bleeding, in the clutches of her father again, forced her feet faster across the cement. Her feet pattered against the sidewalk in time with her heart, and she crashed into several people, calling an apology over her shoulder but never once stopping to help. She couldn't afford to stop.

She ran up the steps of the building, her heart in her throat, and when she saw the state of the place, she willed herself not to release a sob. "Mom?" She called out. "Mother?"

She ran her eyes over the wreck of the apartment, searching for something, anything that could hint where she could be. She yanked open her mother's bedroom door, hoping beyond hope that she had put up a fight against Valentine or whoever had come for her, and that she was lying in bed resting after the confrontation. She knew it was a long shot- Jocelyn would've responded when Clary called for her if she were home- but she still felt a wave of intense disappointment and despair when the room was empty.

Then she heard the grunt. Her eyes widened as she turned toward the dresser. Standing there was a Ravener demon.

* * *

She fumbled for the dagger in her pocket, and threw it at precisely at the moment it lunged for her. She ran out of the bedroom as the knife stuck in the demon's head, and ran for the coat closet, where her mother had hidden a few seraph blades in an umbrella holder for emergencies. She wrapped her fingers around its hilt, swinging her body around to face the Ravener. It moved to attack again, and Clary swiftly moved out of its path, striking the demon's back with the blade and slicing it in half in a single fluid motion. It disappeared with a shriek. Clary gave a smug smile before she remembered why she had just had to face a demon. The smile disappeared.

She tried to think- what was it her mother had said? Call Luke, she thought with a nod. She reached in her pocket for her phone. It wasn't there. She must've dropped it on her run home. Without the time to be frustrated, she ran to the kitchen for the home phone. Her stomach dropped down to the floor when it wouldn't work. The line was cut. She cursed loudly.

"Clarissa, I don't think that's the way a lady should talk, now is it?"

Clay whipped around. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jace smirked, and Clary had a strong desire to punch him in the face. Before she could, however, his face cleared of all amusement. He looked serious for once, and Clary silently thanked the Angel.

"You couldn't have expected I wouldn't follow you after that whole charade. Panicked phone call, panicked expression, panicked sprint down the block. I was worried about you."

"Well, I'm fine. Or, as fine as you can get when your mother is missing, your apartment's a wreck, and you were just attacked by a Ravener."

"You killed a Ravener?"

Clary nodded. "Yeah, I know. Big shocker. It's not like I'm a Shadowhunter or anything. _Oh wait_!" Jace stared blankly at her. Clary rolled her eyes. "Let's go. I'll _willingly_ go to the Institute with you now. I need help finding my mother, so why the hell not?"

She took a step forward, and Jace followed. "All right," he said.

They walked out of the apartment, and down the steps, numbness shaking her body.

"And, by the way, Clary?" He turned to her.

"Mm?"

"I do expect you to tell me how you were living with your dead mother on the way there."

Clary inwardly cringed. Of course, she'd told him her mother was dead the first time they'd met. It was what she believed at the time- a truth embedded within her lies. And now that her beliefs had been proven wrong, Jace would probably start to know the rest of her backstory was a lie as well. Which meant that Clary would have to tell him the horrible truth that she had kept hidden from him. A truth that could truly break him.

"Of course I will, Jace! Because I'm guessing on top of this being the second-worst day of my life, it's apparently also the day I tell my life story and spill every secret I hold!" Her voice dripped sarcasm and fake enthusiasm.

Jace looked at her sideways. "Fine, tell me tomorrow, then." He whipped his body away from her, returning their walk into its silence.

Under any other circumstances, Clary would've smirked. Instead, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She had a feeling she wouldn't be returning to the mundane world anytime soon- possibly never again.

* * *

**Yay! Over 2,000 words! Woohoo! See you at chapter 7! Byeeeee!**


	7. Jace

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments series.**

* * *

**Past**

Clary tossed in her bed. Jonathan Wayland had given her the room least likely for anyone in the house to enter, but she was still terrified of being discovered. Her father was in the house- what if he walked into the room? Whether or not her theories were correct, he would be furious to find her sleeping in a house miles from her own.

Had this all been for nothing? During the day, when she was confused and a bit delirious from sleep deprivation, the idea that her father was raising a secret son under a false surname seemed only half-way to a delusional conspiracy theory. Now, in the depth of night, the premise was just downright insane. If her father had another son, he would keep him in the same house he raised his other two children in. Theirs was large enough for four residents, and this one was certainly sufficient. Her father had no reason to do something so... odd.

Clary sighed. She knew the only way to be rid of the curiosity that was consuming her mind was to search for answers. Rambling thoughts and theories would never take her to an actual answer, just add to her anxiety. She ran a hand through her hair. There was an easy method of finding answers- that was clear. All she had to do was ask Jonathan Wayland.

Of course, there was the problem that she would look extremely suspicious asking all of those questions at once. Maybe she could use some kind of excuse, but it would have to be strong, and who knew if he would believe it? She bit hard on her lip, thinking. She could just have a conversation with him when he came in the morning- he'd promised to come at nine o'clock with breakfast. Then, whenever it seemed appropriate, she could slip in one of her many questions. She nodded. Yes, that would work.

The next morning, Clary paced across the bedroom. The clock said that it was 8:55 am, but Clary was sure it was wrong. She couldn't have woken only twenty minutes ago- she had to have been waiting for hours.

Releasing a puff of air, Clary sat down on the bed and put her face in her hands. She was stupid, so _stupid_ to think this was a good idea. She should have stayed home like the little obedient girl her father so wished her to be. She should have spent her days reading her novels while Jonathan pretended she didn't exist. Maybe, if she'd stayed home, she could've gotten her brother to actually train with her as an equal instead of throwing knives at her to "enhance her reflexes." But instead, like the rash, naive girl she was, she had let curiosity get the better of her. And now she was in this mess.

Suddenly, she heard a creek. Clary shot up into a sitting position as Jonathan Wayland entered the room with a tray of food.

"Hey, Clary," he grinned. "I brought you some waffles."

Clary looked down at the tray as he set it in her lap. She hadn't even thought about food before- the idea of talking to the golden boy had somehow overshadowed the prospect. However, now that she had a plate in front of her, she felt the hunger pangs slowly creeping up her stomach. She picked up the fork and knife and began to cut the waffles into even strips.

"So," Jonathan said. "How did you sleep? Was the bed good enough?"

"Yes," Clary said, sticking a piece of waffle into her mouth. She chewed it slowly and then added, "It was much more comfortable than my own bed at home."

"That's good," he nodded. A hesitant look crossed his features. "Where is your home? Is it close?"

"I'd say about twenty miles south, in a valley. Lots of caves and such around. I think I would've found it nicer if I'd gotten to play outdoors by myself. But I had to under careful watch from my brother, who hates my guts."

"You've got a brother?"

Clary nodded, slightly recoiling at the thought of Jonathan. Jonathan Christopher. No, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. By the Angel, the two of them sharing a first and middle name was confusing. "Yeah, I do. He has the same exact name as you, actually."

"His name is Jonathan?"

"Jonathan Christopher, actually. I'm guessing that our fathers were friends at the time of your births."

Or closer than friends. The same person, perhaps.

"Is that why you looked so weirded-out when I told you my name?"

Clary nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of confusing to me. Last night, I kept forgetting who I was thinking about."

Jonathan laughed. "You can always give me a nickname, if you want. That would lessen the confusion."

Clary thought for a moment, and then her mouth stretched into a mischievous grin.

"Oh, by the Angel, is this something bad?"

"Depends how you look at it."

"Oh, dear Lord."

"Well, I read this book a little while ago, and the main character's name was Jacy. Sometimes they called her Jace. If you take your first two initials- J. C., it sounds like Jacy. Jace. Sounds cool to me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Jace. I like it. Rolls off the tongue."

Clary smiled. "Good. I'll call you Jace from now on."

He smiled, and they were silent for a moment. Then he stood.

"I have to go now. My father expects me for schooling."

Clary nodded. He stepped toward the door.

"Wait," Clary stood, remembering what she had intended to say before he came in. Curse distractions. She blamed the waffles.

Jace turned to her. "Yeah?"

"Do you have any visitors staying here now? Besides me?"

Jace looked confused. "No, just my father and I and a few servants who never come to this wing. I don't think anyone has ever visited in my lifetime. Why?"

Clary felt her heart tighten and then fall in her chest. "No reason. Just wondering how high my chances of being found are."

Jace smiled warmly. "Don't worry. If a servant found you, they'd keep you secret. And even if my father were to find out about you, he wouldn't be too angry."

"I doubt it," Clary said under her breath.

"Hmm?"

Clary jumped. "Oh, nothing," she said quickly. "Just talking to myself." Jace looked at her strangely. "Don't you have lessons to get to?" she huffed.

He stared at her for a moment longer before saying, "Yeah. See you at seven," and leaving.

As soon as the door was closed, Clary slowly took the plate of half-finished waffles from her lap and put it against the wall opposite her bed. When it was out of her grip, she took small steps back to the bed and climbed on. Then she punched her pillow. She punched it again and again until she collapsed onto the bed in a fit of sobs.

Shadowhunters didn't cry. Clary knew this, and she hadn't broken this rule since she was three years old and Jonathan ripped the head off the only toy she ever had- a little stuffed koala. However, she couldn't help but let the tears escape now- they ran down her cheeks in thick beads.

Hot coals of betrayal lit deep in her stomach, and as Clary's sobs came to an end, she sat up, the coals burning into a fiery, consuming anger. Why did her father have to lie to her all of the time? He kept her in the dark about _every little_ detail. Why hadn't he informed her about the boy he kept in a house so far away? Did he not find her mature enough to handle it? Did he think she would hate him for it? The anger burned brighter. Didn't he _trust_ her? Didn't he _love_ her? Clary hugged a pillow from the bed to her chest.

_He loves me,_ she thought, _but trust is a long shot._

Pressing her lips together, she stood from the bed and made a vow. She would get her revenge, someday. She would prove to him that she wasn't the petty little girl he thought she was. She would take his beliefs and use them to strike her father right in the face.

* * *

**Dun dun dun... This one was a bit darker than the others. Clary releasing some general angst, you know? Chapter 8 next week!**


End file.
